One Magic Night
by Screaming Mimi
Summary: I'm back, and with something that isn't a bizarre markie thing! Oh, it's bizarre, and it's Markie, but it's different, there's a plot. My take on how one char. got HIV and it's *not* M/R, RnR!


It's so easy, there's just nothing to it. I've watched. I've watched the pain drift away into a blissful euphoria for a few hours, only to crash down upon it's victim in a landslide of unnameable devastation. It's so easy, there's just nothing to it. The tiny plastic bag crinkles in the palm of my hand. Nothing to it.   
A consequences flick through my mind. I don't have to take it like that. I don't have to do that risk. I'm the intelligent one, I think before I do. I lay out the powder in thin white lines of perfection. It tickles my nose as I inhale it. A wave, a rush. It's all clear now, perfectly clear. I understand why he does it.   
I grab another pack and needle and leave, ignoring the thought of Roger's rage when he returns to find so much of his precious dollars wasted away on a lost soul like myself. The city is ablaze in a rush of lights, they blur in an late 80's music video effect. I can hear the thoughts of people rushing by me, so caught up in their meaningless lives. If only they could see!  
I am filled with the urge to share this with someone, anyone. I must spread the love. As my feet stop moving, the whole world skids to a screeching halt. All the lights and the afterglow in the city swirl in upon this man, this boy. A street musician, eyes closed in the rhythem of the night, a thin layer of sweat on his brow from the effort he exerts. He is beauty personified. I think my heart my explode out of my chest and lunge for this boy. I approach him, suddenly frightened. A God on earth would not waste his time on me.   
He sees me. So easy, nothing at all. His melodic voice lilts in through one ear and out the other, soothing my mind. I barely hear what he says, only the notes rising and falling. I notice his jeans glimmer and I am entranced. His voice keeps speaking to me, and suddenly I am aware I am answering. I can't hear myself, all I hear is the beat of his heartbeat and the wave of color his jeans emit.   
I take his hand into mine and lead him around, anywhere.   
_My place_. He says, obviously as shocked as I am. I am transported there by means I am not entirely sure of, all the while jammering on about something. The boy smiles and nods, laughing at points. He thinks I am not crazy. He pays attention to me. It's so easy.  
The room is dark and a single cot is illuminated by a ethereal light. I thrust him down on the bed. I have to share this, this wonderful feeling. I mention my thought and he backs away. No, you don't understand. It's perfect, it's wonderful. It's something a God like you should know about, should feel all the time. I have to share it with you.   
I boil it down as I have seen it done and pour it into the needle. Just a little pinprick. The boy yanks his sleeves down and I hear his heartbeat quicken. It's so easy, there's just nothing to it. It'll make you even more perfect, I hear myself whisper, and with one swift motion the needles slips into his skin and into a vein. I hear his painful gasp echo in the caverns of my mind as I press down, injecting this substance. I hear him mutter vague attempts in protest but they fade away as he too begins to experience. Our bodies thrust together in the most wonderful experience I've ever had, I was unaware that it was legal to feel like it. All perfection, all beauty, all glory combines into a blissful harmony surronded by an orange glow.  
And I begin my descent. The lights seem darker again as I roll onto my back, exhausted. The weight of his body against mine seems heavier, his fingernails in my skin is more painful. His descent begins as well, I can feel it with the last bit I have left in me. I want to fall asleep and leave this behind. Depression is enough.  
I open my eyes again with a hunger for something I have never known. I want that feeling again, my body craves it. But my sane self, it has regained control, reminds me of the consequences. The boring, unfortunate aftermath. I remember my companion and see his chest rise and fall by my side. He is still as beautiful. He makes my chest ache in a longing even more powerful than that of the drug.  
I cannot stand him. I cannot look at him any longer. I get out of there as fast as possible, back to my realm where Godly boys in glimmer pants do not move in ways unholy. Back where the lights stay as they are and nothing is beautiful. Back where it's home.  
  
Angel Dumott... Schunard! Collins exclaims and gestures to this new lover boy. I have not passed that street musician since. I choose not to think about what happened to him. I saw the loopy script that spelled out doom for more people than Roger knew on the mirror the night of April's death. I have not seen that street musician since that night.   
I saw that street musician, that Godly boy. I saw him today as he whirled out in a glory of color and stopped in front of me, eyes glimmering with that recognition where you really don't know where it's from. I saw him kiss his new lover with an euphoria that was sober. I finally saw that street muscian today and I realized that Gods may not pay attention to me, but Angels do. 


End file.
